


Fairytale in the Dead of Night

by Dcgal814



Series: A Better Place [1]
Category: The Handmaid's Tale (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-06-29 23:56:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15739905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dcgal814/pseuds/Dcgal814
Summary: June, Hannah, Holly, and Nick finally escape to Canada.  But the path to healing and freedom is just beginning.Post S2 speculative fic.*Final chapter added*





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first fanfiction ever so...go easy on me :) I miss these characters so much..just wanted to see them be happy, or at least on the path to it.

It’s been one month since Nick got us out. All four of us - him, me, Hannah, and Holly. I don’t know how the fuck he did it but he did it. I’ve felt so helpless in Gilead that from the moment we arrived in Canada, I’ve found myself in “task master” mode - doing everything I’m supposed to do, checking every box I’m supposed to check. I have my family back - I need to take care of them.

Find Luke. That was easy - he was called when we arrived, and showed up at the refugee center the same day.  
Find Moira. She showed up with Luke.  
Find an apartment. Luke found one a few blocks away from his old place in Little America.  
Start therapy. Moira recommended someone from the refugee center.  
Get Hannah in therapy. My therapist recommended someone for Hannah.  
Find a job. I’m working at the refugee center in their communications department.  
Get Holly in daycare. There’s one a few blocks from our apartment.  
Check check check... Now what?

 

****

 

“Look, Hannah - there are pandas. Do you want to get closer?”

We’re at the Toronto Zoo. Our first family field trip since being reunited. Well, almost - Nick has Holly for the day.

I pull Hannah closer to the crowd standing around the pandas, and encourage her to go up to the glass barrier. She barely lets go of my hand, before she grabs it again and returns to my side. I share a look with Luke. He grabs Hannah’s other hand, and together we slowly make our way up to the glass.

Hannah’s been clingy ever since we escaped, and who can blame her. She’s been ripped out of her mother’s arms, not once, but twice. She hadn’t seen her father for over 3 years, and in children’s years, that’s practically a lifetime. We’ve missed 3 years of her life. Her precious childhood - whatever was left of it, that is. She seems to have aged much more than just 3 years. I want to scream in fury when I allow myself to think about it, which I generally don’t. The grief is even worse. Did you know you can feel grief when someone hasn’t actually died?

The crowd starts clearing, but Hannah still stands by the glass, watching the pandas. Two small pandas. “What do you think, Hannah Banana?” I ask. “Aren’t they cute?”

She nods. “Are they sad?”

“How do you mean, baby?” Luke asks.

“They’re stuck in here.” Hannah looks up to my face. “You were stuck. You were sad.”

I smile at her, and caress her head. “You’re right. I was stuck, and I was sad. I couldn’t get to you, which was all I wanted to do.”

She looks away and gazes at the pandas again. “Where are their parents?” Luke and I share another look. _Fuck_. “I wish I could help them.”

I squeeze her shoulder. “Me too, Hannah.” That’s all I can say. _Fuck_. What were we thinking, bringing her to the zoo? Where animals are held captive? Born and taken away from their mothers. _Fuck_.

“Come on, let’s get something to eat,” Luke says.

 

***

 

“Create a new normal.” Those were Dr. Pearson’s words. Predictable routines.

In some ways, our new normal isn’t much different from our old normal before - work for me and Luke, and school for Hannah. Then there’s Holly, our daily reminder that the old normal is long gone. She spends most days in daycare, except every other Friday when Nick has a day off from his job at the American Consulate. He also takes her every Saturday.

Nick - another reminder of how our lives have changed. When we arrived at the refugee center after our escape, Nick had been immediately taken into custody for questioning around his role in Gilead. I wasn’t able to see him until nearly two weeks later, when it was finally determined he would not be charged with any war crimes. Holly and I met up with him at a coffee shop near the apartment. He plays with Holly, and we share updates from the last two weeks. The mood shifts - he puts Holly back in her stroller, and avoids my eyes. I know what’s coming.

“June, I want you to be happy. You deserve to be happy.” He pauses, then clears his throat. I look up into his face, and can tell how hard this is for him. “I think I should go.” He says it so quietly, I may not have heard him if I didn’t already know what he was going to say.

“You don’t have to go,” I whisper. “I’ve told Luke everything. He understands. You can stay here. With Holly.”

“She doesn’t need me.”

“Yes, she does.” Are we still talking about Holly? “You’re her father.”

“I know.” He pauses. “Which is why I don’t want to make this harder than it needs to be. For her. For anybody. I want her to have a happy, simple life.”

I look down into my lap. “What about you?” I flashback to the hospital after the bombing. Nick doesn’t respond - something tells me he’s back at the hospital too.

Finally, he whispers, “I’ll be fine.”

Neither of us speak. Holly coos as she plays with the toys hanging from her stroller handle, blissfully unaware of the conversation - that her father is leaving. Who knows when she might see him again? I place my hand on her chest, subconsciously trying to comfort her (or is it myself I’m trying to comfort?). Suddenly, I feel panicked. And angry - actually, furious.

“How can you leave her?” _After everything we’ve been through?_ I think, but don’t say. My hands are shaking. He notices.

“I don’t _want_ to leave.” He seems frustrated, as if it should be obvious to me. He sighs, then takes a breath. In a softer tone, “I just think it might be better for everyone.”

“Better never means better for everyone,” I snarl. Even in the moment, I know I’m being harsh and unreasonable, I know he’s just trying to make a noble exit, make it easier for me, but I don’t fucking care.

Unexpectedly, his body folds over the table between us, and he places his face in his hands. I’ve never seen him do that. I’d be frozen in shock if my heart wasn’t aching. I immediately regret my anger. This is killing him. Leaving us. But the thought of staying and watching me rebuild my life with my husband must be equally painful.

“I’m sorry.” I pause, to compose myself and gather my thoughts. “I understand what you’re trying to do. I just...can you let me decide what’s best? I just need some time.”

He doesn’t move. I reach my hand across the table and place it on his head. I hate myself for what I’m doing to him. “Please. I...know it’s a lot to ask for. After everything you’ve done for me.” My voice breaks. He grabs my hand and squeezes it tight. I flashback to our moment in the kitchen, when he learned I was pregnant. Even in his pain now, he tries to comfort me. We hold hands in silence, until I can feel him slowly nodding his head. He sits back up and starts to gather his things. He hasn’t looked me in the eyes. “Just promise me one thing: if I’m in the way, if I’m making it harder, you’ll tell me. You’ll ask me to leave.” He finally looks up. “Promise me.”

“Okay,” I whisper. He nods, then stands up. He kisses Holly on the cheek and leaves.

I sit at the table for a while longer, trying to compose myself, before heading home.


	2. Chapter 2

_“People want my power_

_And they want my station_

_Stormed my winter palace_

_But they couldn’t take it._

_All the_ \- JUNE!”

 

“Huh?” I turn to look at Moira and pull out my headphones.  “Sorry, music was loud.” Moira and I go for a run every Saturday morning.  Another part of the routine.

 

“I need a breather,” she says.  “Let’s sit.” We stop at a bench by a park.  “What are you listening to?”

 

““Go!” by Santigold.  It’s my jam.” Moira just nods.  “You alright?” I ask.

 

“Uh huh.”  She doesn’t look at me.  

 

“Moira?”

 

She glances at me and nods, “yea...just bored, I guess.”  She looks around. “None of this feels real sometimes.”

 

“Hmm...yea.”  I look around too.  “Luke says it gets better.”  

 

“Man, I can’t fucking wait 3 years for it to get better.  It’s already been a whole fucking year since I’ve been out.”  She shakes her head.

 

“What moments feel better for you?”

 

“When I’m doing something.  Something that matters. Protesting, volunteering.  But lately, it hasn’t felt like enough. I need to do more.”  

 

“Hmm.  We’ll ask around.  See what else we can do.”

 

“Yea…” After a pause, “how’s Banana?” Moira asks.

 

I sigh. “Getting there.  She’s laughing more, joking more.  More like herself.”

 

“And Luke?”

 

“Laughing more, joking more, more like himself.” I smirk.  

 

She smiles back.  “Holly?”

 

“Sitting up now, eating solids, looking more and more like her father every day with her full head of black hair.”  

 

“And you?” Moira asks.  

 

I look at her.  “You know how it is.  How do you answer that? Yes, I’m fine.  Or I should be, right? I’m safe. I’m out.  I have my family back.”

 

Moira nods.  “You’re back.”  She rests her hand on mine.  “You’re here. I’m here. Praised fucking be.”  

 

I laugh.  “Praised be.  Come on, let’s keep going.”  

 

 

****

 

 

I startle awake - it’s still dark.  I touch the sheets around me, grounding me.  There are times I’m still afraid I’ll wake up in my room at the Waterfords and realize this was all a dream.  I reach for Luke, but feel nothing - he’s not there.

 

I walk out into the hallway and notice the girls’ bedroom door open.  “Luke?”

 

He’s inside, on the rocking chair, fast asleep with Holly in his arms.  Hannah is asleep in her own bed. I must not have heard Holly wake up. I watch him hold my daughter, my daughter who I had with another man, and I’m reminded of the man he is.  A man I love. If he’s ever felt any hurt, jealousy, anger, or resentment towards me, Holly, or Nick, he’s never once showed it. When I’ve explicitly asked him, he simply says his anger is with Gilead, and Gilead alone.  

 

He may not be angry with me, but I know he gets frustrated.  When I zone out, and don’t hear him talking. When I get short with him for reasons he can’t understand - and let’s be honest, I don’t even know half the time.  He doesn’t say anything, but his sighs give him away.

 

Three months ago, I was sleeping in my bed at the Waterfords, not allowed to hold my own baby.  Not allowed to see Hannah. And never having laid eyes on Luke for over 3 years. Now, we’re all together in this tiny room.  All thanks to a man who is sleeping alone in his tiny apartment a few blocks away. It doesn’t seem fair. I feel guilty when I think of Nick alone.  And then I feel guilty for thinking of Nick when my husband woke up to care for Nick’s baby in the middle of the night. None of this feels fair. I can’t believe the notion of fairness even exists in my mind after everything I’ve seen.  I crawl into bed with Hannah and take comfort in my family.

 

 

***

 

 

“June, did you hear? A few people just escaped from Gilead.  Marthas I think,” my coworker Annette announces to me. I think of Rita.  

 

“Any names released?” I ask.  

 

“Not yet.”  

 

It’s almost 5.  I have to pick up Holly from daycare.  I’ll just have to wait until tomorrow to check.  

 

I always walk from work to Holly’s daycare.  It’s almost a mile, but I try to honor the privilege that I have to be outside and not answer to anyone.  No guardian eyeing me with suspicion. I make a point to stop at bridges and parks because I can now and I know so many handmaids and Marthas who still aren’t able to back in Gilead.  They didn’t have a Nick to get them out. As the months go by, I realize more and more what he did for me and my children.

 

I see Nick at least once a week, whenever he picks up Holly for the day.  His face lights up when he sees her, but is unreadable when he looks at me.  I feel sad and relieved at the same time that he tries to keep his emotions to himself.  We’re different around each other, compared to before, in Gilead. Our conversation revolves almost entirely around Holly.  We never touch. Even when we’re alone - _especially_ when we’re alone.  Somehow, I feel less free around him than when I was held captive in Gilead and we were under the watchful eyes of the Waterfords.  How does that work?

 

I want to touch him.  I long to hug him or to grab his hand.  I don’t. Somehow, I don’t feel prepared for the consequences of that.  And yet, the consequence of hanging on the Wall if we were caught in Gilead wasn’t enough to stop me then.  How does that work?

 

I don’t know how any of this works.  I never thought I would long for rules once I was free.  But the freedom to choose feels fraught with danger in a way Gilead never did.  The “choices” were clear there - do it or die. Don’t do it or die. What was there to think about in that?

 

All I do is think now.  What if Luke and I had tried to get out earlier? What if I never went to Nick’s apartment that first time? What if I never feel like myself again? Do I even want to be that person again? The questions swirl around in my head over and over again until I feel like I’m drowning.  

 

A cool breeze caresses my face, and I’m reminded of where I am.  Walking home from work. I try to still my mind, and be in the moment.  Dr. Pearson says this is mindfulness and I can practice letting go of my thoughts and be present.  I refrain from telling her that I spent years in Gilead trying to NOT be present and it’s a hard habit to break.  I know I could tell her this, but that’s another hard habit to break: hiding my true feelings and thoughts from others.  

 

 

***

 

 

“Who wants pancakes?”

 

“Me, me, me!” Hannah shouts.  

 

It’s our Sunday morning tradition.  Another routine. I pour the batter into the pan.  

 

“Okay, Banana, can you help get Holly into her high chair?”  As Hannah helps Holly, Luke comes into the kitchen, looking like a zombie.  He woke up with Holly again last night, letting me sleep.

 

“She woke up twice last night.  She wanted her Elmo.” He leans in for a hug, burying his face in my hair.  

 

“Oh no! I’m sorry.  I’ll swing by Nick’s later to pick it up.  He must’ve forgotten to pack it. I’ll get you some coffee.”

 

As we were talking, Hannah had buckled Holly into her chair, got a bib for her, and was now spoonfeeding her some baby food.  

 

“Luke,” I whisper, and nod my head to the girls.  He smiles. We’ve been mindful of not asking Hannah to help out too much with Holly, not wanting her to feel like a third parent.  A feeble attempt to preserve as much of her childhood as possible.

 

Holly has a full mouth of puréed berries when she sneezes...and sprays it all over Hannah’s face.

 

“Gah!!” Hannah yelps.

 

Holly freezes...Then laughs the cutest laugh in the world.  Hannah joins in.

 

“That’s funny, huh?” Luke asks, rubbing both of their heads.  Hannah puts more puree on the spoon and then flings it at Luke’s face.  

 

I can’t stop laughing.  

 

“And now, you’re being funny, huh? I can be funny too.”  Luke picks up Hannah and rubs his face all over hers.

 

“Stop, Dad! Stop!” She squeals, and tries to squirm away.

 

He drops Hannah and then looks back at me.  I know that look.

 

“Don’t you dare.”

 

“I think Mommy wants some berries too. What do you think, Banana?”

 

We burned the first batch of pancakes that morning.  Totally worth it.

 

***

 

I swing by Nick’s after breakfast to pick up Holly’s Elmo.  As I approach his door, I hear movement from within. He’s home.  There’s no hiding from myself how happy that makes me.

 

When I knock, I’m surprised to find a brunette woman answering the door.  I double check the apartment number. Yep, 214. _So who the fuck are you?_

 

“Uh, is Nick home?”

 

“No, he went out.  Errands, he said. Do you want to come in?”

 

“Um, sure.  I just need to pick something up.  Our daughter left it.” She steps aside so I can enter.

 

“Ah, so you’re the handmaid.  It’s nice to finally meet you.” _And again, who the fuck are you?_

 

She must sense my question.  “I’m Beth. Martha. From Jezebels.  Up until 3 days ago.”

 

 _Oh._  The escapees from Thursday.  “Welcome to Canada.” I wish I could say I felt more happy for her, and I would have if we’d met anywhere but here.  Does Nick offer housing to new escapees? He’d never mentioned anything. But then again, he’s never been the most forthcoming.  

 

“How do you know, Nick?” I ask.  

 

“We got to know each other at Jezebels.”   _That bitch._ Nick took part? But wait, she was a Martha.  “When he was waiting for his Commander. There was some black market trading in the kitchens.  He was one of the nicer ones. So we got to talking.” _Talking, huh?_

 

I just nod.

 

“He was nice enough to let me stay here until I figure out my next steps,” she says.  I glance at the sofa and see bedding still there. I can’t pretend I’m not relieved. And a little guilty for having jumped to conclusions.  Maybe they’re just friends.

 

“Yea, he’s one of the good ones,” I say.  I try to smile.

 

“Well, let me know if I can help you find what you need.  Not that I know where anything is.”

 

“I’m sure it’s just in her crib.  I’ll go take a look.”

 

“Okay.  I think I’ll head out then. Would you mind locking up after you leave?”

 

“Sure thing.”  

 

I find Elmo on the dining table.  I consider leaving, now that I’ve got it, but it’s too tempting to be here alone and not have a look around.  It’s the first time I’ve been at his place without him there. Even when he’s been there, I’ve never stayed long.  Nick gave me a key awhile back just in case, so he’s okay with me being here, but it still feels like I’m snooping.  

 

But this is the most intimate look into his life that I can get these days, so fuck it.

 

I walk around his living room, touching each piece of furniture.  Most look second-hand. Wood and leather. Is that what he likes? Unlike his old apartment above the garage, he picked out his own furniture here.  I walk by the bookshelf, and examine the titles. Like most newly-settled refugees, he doesn’t have many books. There are a few on history and philosophy, but I’m surprised and touched when I see “What to Expect the First Year.”  I pull it out and see several corners have been folded down. I notice a picture frame that I remember seeing in his old apartment. Nick and Joshua. I guess he grabbed it before we escaped. In all the years I’ve known him, he’s only talked about Joshua once.  Obviously, he meant a lot to him but I have no idea what their relationship was like or what happened to him. Next to it is a picture of him holding Holly. He’s actually smiling. I smile and caress it with my fingers.

 

His walls are barren, aside from two framed black-and-white photographs.  Does he like photography? I walk into the kitchen and see two glasses of wine in the sink.  They used to talk, she said. He never mentioned her. He would have if she was important, right?

 

He doesn’t owe you anything, I remind myself.  He’s free to do whatever he wants. And _whomever_ he wants, an annoying voice in my head adds.  I shake my head and immediately leave the kitchen.

 

This was a bad idea.  I realize there is so little I know about him.  I know he doesn’t like tuna. But he likes cheese.  And steak, done rare. I know what sound he makes when he comes.  I know he has a scar on his right shoulder, and have even kissed him there.  But I don’t know his past. I hardly even know his present.

 

I want to know him.  I want to know what he’s thinking.  He so rarely shares, without first being prompted.  I want to know what he loves, what makes him happy. Even amongst all of the change over the last few months, I realize that I’m still the woman sneaking around his apartment, wanting to know him.  At least, some things haven’t changed. It’s surprisingly comforting to me.


	3. Chapter 3

Wednesdays at 5.  My weekly appointment with Dr. Pearson.  Another routine - have you noticed a theme here?

 

“How can I help today?” she asks.  She starts with the same question every time.  She has routines too.

 

“I don’t know if this is something you can help me with, but I feel guilty.  All the time.”

 

“Can you tell me more?”

 

 _Bitch, please, I could go on all day._  I take a deep breath.  “I feel guilty when I’m with Luke, because I know he wants to connect with me, and sometimes I just don’t feel like I have more to give.  I feel guilty whenever Hannah seems down because I couldn’t protect her before, and I can’t even protect her now from just the normal day-to-day shit that happens.  I feel guilty when I get frustrated with Holly because I should just be grateful that I even have her. I feel guilty every time I see Nick because I know he’s here only because I asked him to be, and all I can give him are the crumbs left behind after everyone else takes priority.” My voice breaks…”and yet he’s never once asked for anything more from me...And then, I feel guilty to Luke again for even thinking about Nick.  Because Luke is my husband.” I pause. “And we’re back at the beginning, and it just goes round and round.” I’m out of breath after my massive rant.

 

I glance up at her and see sadness on her face.  She feels sad for me that I feel so guilty. For a second, I feel sad for me too.  And then the guilt’s back.

 

“And then I feel guilty because here I am complaining when I’m the lucky one.  I got out. I got to keep my baby. I’m safe. My family’s still alive. Almost everyone I love are here, with me.”

 

“Survivor’s guilt,” she says.

 

There’s a moment of silence.  

 

“June, when I hear guilt, I think of fault.  We feel guilty when we’ve done something wrong.  Do you feel like you’ve done something wrong? You survived.  Is that wrong?”

 

“No.  I don’t think it’s wrong for me to have survived...It’s wrong that others didn’t.”  

 

“So it sounds like what you feel may not be guilt, but empathy.  For people who were not so lucky. You feel bad for them.”

 

I feel bad..for them.  Not because I did something bad.

 

She continues, “you feel bad all the time because you’re compassionate.  It speaks to your goodness, not your badness.”

 

My goodness.  Really? I’m touched that she would think that.  Could it be true?

 

More silence.

 

“Any reactions?” she asks.  

 

“I’ve never thought about it that way.  Just trying to wrap my mind around it.”

 

She smiles and nods, giving me the space to think.  

 

“So when I feel guilty towards Luke….”

 

“Do you think it’s wrong that you need time and space? That you can’t jump back into things like they were before?”

 

“No, I say...of course, I need time and space.”  

 

“So that doesn’t sound like guilt to me.  It sounds like empathy for him. You know it’s hard on him and you care about him.”

 

I do care about him.  So much. “I think I’m getting it,” I say.  “I still feel shitty but I see what you mean...Thank you.”

 

***

 

Later that evening, Luke and I are alone at a park.  Date night. We were walking home from dinner and decided to stop for a bit.  

 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Luke asks.  

 

I look up at him.  “Just thinking about my session.”  

 

“Hmm.” We sit in a comfortable silence watching the world around us.  “June, I need to ask you something.” He turns his body to face mine. His face is dead serious.  No hint of his trademark smile and humor. I immediately tense. My mind races as I try to anticipate what he could possibly need to ask me.  Does it involve Nick? Am I ready to answer?

 

He grabs both of my hands and holds them gently in his own.  Okay, he doesn’t seem mad.

 

“I need to ask for your forgiveness.”  

 

I didn’t see that one coming.  “My forgiveness?”

 

“We should have left.  Before. We should have left when you wanted to leave.”  He takes a deep breath, as his eyes fill. “Maybe if we did, we could have gotten out.” His voice quivers.  “We could have been safe and together.” He really starts to cry now, and I can barely make out the words. “I didn’t keep you safe.  I didn’t listen to you. I’m sorry.” He bends his head down to our clasped hands. “I’m sorry.”

 

My heart breaks for him.  Here I’ve been struggling with my own guilt, never realizing Luke was carrying his own.  In this moment, I realize what Dr. Pearson was talking about. How we can feel guilty even if it’s not our fault.  Because I don’t blame Luke.

 

I bend down to kiss his head.  “Luke, it’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known what would happen.”  He sits upright but still holds my hands.

 

“You knew.  Your mom knew.  Moira knew.”

 

“Yea, and Moira was still captured.  My mom was still captured. It was already too late.  It wouldn’t have made a difference.”

 

“But it could have.  There was always a chance.”

 

“Maybe.  But you can’t torture yourself with that.  When does it end? We could question every little decision we ever made and wonder if it would have led down a different path.  We’ll never know.”  


_Oh._ You mean exactly what I’ve been doing these last few months? I laugh out loud, and shake my head.  “I know where you’re coming from. I do it too. But it really is pointless. I don’t blame you for what happened.  I could have done more too. But It’s not our fault. It’s not our fault.”

 

As I say those words, for once, it actually feels to be true.  Intellectually, I’ve known it, but it never really felt true. But it does now.  It’s not my fault. None of it. I’m not to blame. For not being able to keep Hannah safe.  For not being able to get us out sooner. For breaking my marriage vows. For falling in love with someone else.  I’m not to blame. And, maybe, just maybe, Luke truly doesn’t blame me for those things too. _Huh._

 

Luke tilts his head to the side, “What?” he asks.  

 

“It’s not my fault.  It’s really not my fault,” I say, still shocked at how true it feels.

 

“What’s not your fault?” Luke asks, confused.

 

“Everything.  Hannah. Holly.  Nick. You. It’s not my fault.”  

 

His squeezes my hands, which he’s been holding this whole time.  “Of course not. God, June - of course not.”

 

The shock starts to fade, and out of nowhere, sadness sets in.  This deep, profound sadness down to my core. And I start to sob.  Everything that’s happened. Every fucking thing. All of the pain.  The trauma. None of it is my fault. “It’s not my fault. It’s not my fault.”  I start rocking back and forth, and Luke hugs me against his body, rocking along with me.  He doesn’t say anything and just lets me grieve. I can feel his own tears moisten my hair.  

 

“It’s not our fault,” he says.  “It’s not our fault.” I can tell he feels it too.

 

****

 

Ever since that conversation with Luke, I begin to feel as though a weight has been lifted off.  I never realized how heavy all of those feelings were - the guilt, the doubt, the grief. That’s the thing, right? You don’t realize how heavy it is until you don’t have to carry it anymore.  It’s still there, still comes back around, but it does feel different. I don’t know how to describe it. And frankly, I don’t really care. It’s what I feel, and I don’t want to question it or wrestle with it any more.  I can just let it be.

 

It feels different between us too, Luke and me.  Lighter. More natural. More like ourselves, from before.  It feels fucking great.

 

One lazy Sunday afternoon, I decide to add in an extra run into my week.  I’ve just felt more energized than I have felt in years. The run feels great, and I wish there was a way to bottle up this high and sell it.  I’d be a fucking billionaire.

 

I’m so in the zone that it takes me a few seconds to realize that someone started to run alongside me.  Someone with thick black hair. And those eyebrows.

 

We smile at each other.  It’s the most ease we’ve felt with one another since Gilead.  (Again, I’m flummoxed at how that’s possible. Ease and Gilead do not go together.)  

 

I start to pick up my pace, before full on sprinting.  Let’s see how fast he is. It doesn’t take long for him to catch up and sprint past me.  Way past me. Since when does he run?

 

I watch him run to the park up ahead, and collapse onto his back on the grass.  He’s laughing.

 

I collapse onto the ground next to him, on my stomach, looking onto his smiling face.  I love his smile. Maybe because he so rarely smiles. At least, like that. The big, goofy grin.  “What?” I ask.

 

“Nothing,” he says.  “It’s just nice to see you.”  

 

“Yea, you too,” I smile back.  I roll onto my back, mirroring his position.  I must have my own goofy grin on my face, because he rolls onto his side, facing me, his hand holding up his head.  “What?” he asks.

 

“Huh?”

 

“You seem different.”  

 

“Do I?”

 

He furrows his brow.  “What’s up?” 

 

“Nothing really.  I’ve just...been feeling a little better.  Maybe it’s the therapy.”

 

“Yea? That’s great, June.”  

 

“Yea, it’s nice.  A relief. I mean, I still feel like a hot mess the majority of the time, but more like “Before” hot mess, you know? Like “normal” hot mess, not Gilead-hot mess.”

 

He nods.  “Is that the technical term?”

 

“Fuck you,” I say.

 

He laughs.  God, I love that sound.  “Seriously, that’s great.  You deserve it.”

 

I smile back at him.  “Thanks.”

 

We lie there in silence, looking up at the sky.  It feels so comfortable between us that I wish the moment could last forever.  But I know it’s almost dinner time, and I have 2 miles to run to get back home.  I groan as I slowly sit up. “I should go. Dinner time.”

 

“Yea, of course,” he says, sitting up too.  We stand and face each other, all of the awkwardness back in full force.  “Give Holly a kiss for me.”

 

“Sure.”  I start walking backwards, away from him.  “I’ll see you.”

 

“See you.”  He must have really let his guard down because I can read every emotion on his face.  Sadness. Loneliness. Longing. I feel sick. It takes every ounce of willpower to run the other way and not back to him.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter left...I already have most of it written, but I seem to be having trouble parting with it. I think I'm afraid of the inevitable withdrawal that will follow. These stories are keeping me going until next season. Thank you for reading my story and for writing your own!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm terribly sad this story is coming to an end. I loved writing it...and need as much Nick and June love as I can get to get me through until next season. Thank you so much for reading - I hope you enjoy it.

For the first time in a long time, I finally start to feel comfortable in my life.  I can really feel the value in all of the routines - there’s something soothing about knowing what to expect of yourself and others.  

 

Things have gotten so much better with Luke, since our conversation.  Easier. We laugh more, joke more, which was always one of my favorite parts of our relationship.  

 

One night, after the girls have gone to bed, he kisses me and I know what he’s thinking.  We’ve kissed before since being reunited, but they were just kisses. Luke knew I wasn’t ready for sex yet so there was never any pressure or expectations in the kiss.  But this one felt different. I’m immediately uneasy but try to manage. Maybe, it’ll just be kissing, like the other times.

 

But then he puts his hand on my breast.  

 

My heart starts racing.  He unbuttons my shirt and cups my breast again.  His other hand softly moves down my stomach and then reaches my jeans.  I panic, and pull away. 

 

I can’t.  I can’t have sex with Luke.  

 

Because it feels like I’m cheating on Nick.  And there it is. 

 

“I’m sorry,” I say.  I start to cry as I realize what this means.  “I’m sorry, Luke. I can’t.”

 

He looks at me, sad. But not angry.  Not hurt. Just sad. Because he knows what it means too.  But he still asks, needing it to be clear, “is it sex or is it me?”

 

I don’t answer.  And he knows the answer.  He looks down, dejected.

 

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

 

He nods.  After a beat, and a heavy sigh, “you love him.”

 

I don’t respond.  Then, “I love you too.” 

 

He nods.  “I know...but he’s your person now.” We sit in silence, except for my crying.  Finally, he says, “It’s okay.”

 

“How is this okay?” I scoff.

 

“You deserve to be happy.”

 

“What about you? What about Hannah?”

 

“June, we’re a family.  We’re together again. We’re safe.  We’ll be fine. Nothing will change that.  The best thing you can do is let yourself be happy.”

 

“I wanted it to work,” I whisper.  

 

“I know.  I don’t blame you.” He holds my hand.  “It’s okay.” 

  
  


***

  
  


We talked with Hannah a few days later, and Luke moved back into his old apartment the next week.  Both were hard - excruciating - but I can’t say they felt wrong. I guess that’s something. 

 

Surprisingly, the person who took it the worst was Moira.  I told her during our last run, that Luke was moving out. 

 

“He can’t, June.  Fuck! Don’t let Gilead win.”

 

“This has nothing to do with Gilead.”

 

“What the fuck are you talking about?  Gilead’s the reason you and Luke weren’t together.  But you can’t let them keep you apart even more. Don’t let them break you.”

 

Is that what I’m doing? I wonder.  Am I giving up too soon? I think of Luke...and us together...and it doesn’t feel broken to me.  We love and support each other. We don’t blame each other. We’re a family. I feel it deep in my gut - we’re a family.  There’s nothing wrong - and there’s nothing to fix.

 

“Gilead may have been the reason we weren’t together then, but I don’t think it’s the reason we aren’t together now.”

 

“Then what the fuck is the reason?”

 

I look at her, but don’t answer.  A part of me is nervous that she’ll get mad or judge - and a part of me dares her to try to judge me. 

 

“Oh God.  Daddy eyebrows?”

 

I snort.  That’s actually pretty accurate.  I make a mental note to use it with Nick later.

 

“You know, it’s not even him.  If Luke and I weren’t married, and I met him today, would I like him? Would we fall in love? Get married? I don’t know....I’m not the same person.”

 

“You don’t think millions of people feel that way about the person they’re married to? That’s what marriage is, June!” She can’t help but smile, and I know she’s joking - or half joking.

 

“I guess there’s some truth to that.  But I don’t want that. And Luke doesn’t deserve that.  A half-assed marriage. Half of my heart.” 

 

“I’m pretty sure he’ll take anything he can get.”  She's probably right.  But she doesn’t push it further. She seems less angry now, and more sad.

 

“You know this doesn’t change anything, right?” I put my arm around her shoulder.  “We’re still a family. Luke, me, Hannah, Holly. You. You know that, right?”

 

“It fucking better not.  We did not survive all of that shit to break apart now.”  

 

“We keep our shit together,” I say, with a smile towards her.

 

“We keep our shit together,” she echoes.  

  
  


***

 

At work, there is a sudden bustle in the office.  Annette pops her head into my cubicle - “June, another group of Marthas.”

 

“Another one? That’s the 4th in the last 2 months.  What’s going on?” 

 

We both head downstairs to Intake to offer our help where we can.  The center can quickly become overwhelmed when groups of refugees arrive all at once.  I’m surprised when I see a certain dark haired man...talking to Rita!

 

“Rita!” I call out, and run up to them.  “Oh my God, you’re here.” We share a long hug.  When we part, we both have tears in our eyes. She’s smiling so much that I honestly hardly recognize her.  She’s not in her Martha wardrobe too, and has her hair down. She’s gorgeous. 

 

“I owe it all to this guy,” she says, nodding towards Nick.  

 

“What?” I ask, looking at him.  

 

He scratches his head and looks away.  “I really didn’t do that much. It’s a team effort.”

 

“Every bit counts,” Rita says.  She grabs his hand, “thank you.”  

 

“I couldn’t leave you there,” he says, as if there was no other choice and he didn’t deserve appreciation.  

 

The three of us look at one another, and I realize we’ll always share this bond.  We were a family of our own. The three of us against Fred and Serena - and the rest of Gilead.  We watched each other’s backs in however small ways we could. Only we would know what it was like in that house.  And we’re all free now. Apparently, thanks to Nick...again. 

 

Nick later explained that he’s been working in a classified division within the American Consulate, communicating with Mayday and other rebel groups within Gilead.  They found a “chink in the armor” he called it, and have been able to get a number of Marthas out over the last few months. “They’ll probably discover it soon enough,” he says, “and we’ll have to find another way.”  After a pause, and looking down, as if he felt bad, “I’ve been trying for the handmaids too, but they’re harder.” 

  
  


***

 

To avoid disrupting the routines we’ve established these last few months, Luke still spends most of his free time at the apartment with the girls.  They’ve been over to his place, but we prefer them to be at home when possible. He still cares for Holly as if she is his own. I wait for the day when he suggests that just Hannah be there or come to see him, because I would understand.  But something tells me he wouldn’t do that. I believe him when he says “we’re a family.” Me, him, Hannah, Holly. Moira. I’ve started to wonder if he even includes Nick. Luke often says he couldn’t go through what I’ve gone through and be as sane or kind as me.  I often think the same of him. 

 

He comes over one Sunday to take the girls to the playground.  I take the opportunity to fit in another run. It’s become my addiction.  Between being outside, the music, the endorphins, and the feeling of “doing something,” it’s been my own form of therapy.  

 

A new song plays during my run.

 

_ “You are the avalanche _

_ One world away _

_ My make believing _

_ While I'm wide awake.” _

 

“You know I think about us. The three of us.  What we could be.” 

 

“We should just run away somewhere.  Start over, like a real family.”

 

_ “I never meant to fall for you but I _

_ Was buried underneath and _

_ All that I could see was white _

_ My salvation….” _

 

_ “You are the snowstorm _

_ I'm purified _

_ The darkest fairytale _

_ In the dead of night.” _

 

I think of him.  This man who saved me.  Not because he got me out.  Or, not just because of that.  But because he gave me comfort.  In the darkest of times. Lightness.  Goodness. Love. 

 

Living in Gilead, I was powerless.  Voiceless. One of many - no identity or name of my own.  But when I was with him, I mattered. I was a person. I had control, I had a say.  He respected my wishes, my body, even at risk to his own body and against his own wishes.  He would have let me leave the Boston Globe on essentially a suicide mission, which undoubtedly would have been signing his own death sentence.

 

He still respects my wishes, even against his own.  He stayed. Because I asked him to. Because I needed to choose for myself what was best.  

 

I’m so in love with him, I can’t believe I didn’t see it.  I knew...but not like this. In this moment, it felt crystal clear.  I need to be with him.

 

I turn around, not even bothering to finish the full run.  I need to see him. Now. I run home so I can shower and change.  Luke is back from the playground with the girls. 

 

“Hey,” he says, as I walk through the door.  “Good run?”

 

“Yea, it was great,” I respond, breathless.  I head towards the bathroom. 

 

“You have that look.”

 

“What look?” I ask, turning around to face him.

 

“You look invincible.”  He says, with a smile. 

 

I smile back.  I walk towards him, and kiss him on the cheek.  

 

As I’m showering, I realize I can’t leave the girls with Luke and run off to Nick.  He doesn’t deserve that. I call Moira and ask if she can stay with the girls tonight.  She can. 

 

Three hours later, I’m standing outside Nick’s door, and the clarity and courage I’d previously felt eludes me.  I still feel clear about my feelings, but I feel uncertain about his. It’s been forever since we’ve talked about or expressed our feelings for one another.  

 

What if he doesn’t feel the same? This could ruin whatever balance we’ve all managed to achieve the last few months.  

 

I hear noise from inside the apartment, and it brings me back to the present.   _ Fuck it.   _ I knock before I can change my mind.

 

I hear movement behind the door and it swings open.  Nick stands there, furrowed brow, clearly wondering what I’m doing there so late.  He subtly peeks behind me for Holly’s stroller, returning his eyes to mine when he doesn’t see it.  I can see a question forming in his eyes, and I walk in before he can ask. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to think.  I just want to be. With him. 

 

He closes the door and turns around to look at me.  He knows I’ve come here for a reason, and is waiting for me to speak first.  My heart starts racing and I can’t seem to bring my eyes up to his. It feels like forever since we’ve had any real intimacy.  Finally, I lift up my face to his, and am taken aback when I see tears in his eyes. Sadness. He can’t seem to look at me.  _ He thinks I’m here to ask him to leave, _ I realize.  Like I’d promised I would do if he was in the way.  

 

My heart aches for him, and I’m not scared anymore.  As I look at him, I wonder how I could have ever questioned his affections.  Clearly, I haven’t done a great job expressing mine. 

 

I take a step closer to him, and slowly cup my hands around his face.  I gently lift up his head so his eyes can reach mine, and beg him to see the love behind them.  I see a question forming behind his eyes again, confusion around why I’m here. The corners of my mouth curl up into a smile, as I remember that first time I surprised him at his place.  I know what to do now. 

 

Without taking my eyes off of his, I reach my hands behind my head to remove the clip holding my hair up.  It falls to my shoulders. He seems surprised, before I see recognition in his eyes. He remembers. I reach for the familiar chain around his neck and lift it above his head.  As he tilts his head forward, I see a smile form on his face. He quietly laughs before his eyes are serious again, begging me to be sure about what I’m doing. Needing reassurance that this isn’t just an impulse like that first time.  All of a sudden, the moment feels tense, real, and heavy with implication. I put my hands back on his face and beg him to see the seriousness in my eyes. This isn’t about sex. It’s love. 

 

He pulls my left hand away from his face and looks at my ring finger.  He noticed it’s naked - no wedding band. He looks back at me, curious.  Then disbelief. Then hopeful. I should surprise him more often - I could get used to this, being able to read his emotions.  Finally, I see love there. And joy. If I didn’t want him so badly, I would have burst into tears.

 

Without taking my eyes off of his, I reach for his shirt and pull it over his head.  My movements are faster now as my longing grows. He hasn’t touched me yet and I’m desperate for his hands on me.  Like the first time, I know he won’t undress me, relinquishing full control to me. I unbuckle his belt and unzip his jeans.  When they fall to the ground, I grab his hands and pull him towards the bedroom, never breaking eye contact. We’re standing at the foot of the bed when I unbotton my shirt and shake it off.  I unzip my jeans and let them fall. Not being able to take it any longer, I lift his hands to my bra hook, and kiss him. 

 

He tastes like home.  

 

He finally responds back and his hands unhook my bra.  Then they’re on my face, my arms, my waist. His lips travel down my body too - he’s everywhere and yet I can’t get enough.  I need more, I need him inside of me. The last bit of clothing removed, we fall on the bed. When he enters me, I wonder how I ever survived these last few months without him.  He is a part of me. We move together, and in this moment, I can’t imagine anything feeling more right than being with him. 

 

I’ve been out of Gilead for 6 months but it’s only now that I’ve truly felt free.  Free to kiss him. Touch him. Love him. I’m free.

 

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Daddy Eyebrows" is not my creation. I first read it on Reddit but I'm not sure where its origins come from. But I love it and thought Moira would definitely come up with a nickname like that for Nick :D


End file.
